


Don't Stop

by chaos_monkey



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: (lol), Accidental kink, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom!Jaskier, Desperate!Geralt, Followed by Extremely Enthusiastic Consent, Full Bladder Sex, Getting Together, Juiced-up Geralt, M/M, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Omorashi, Piss Enema, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn Logic, Prompt Fill, Shameless Smut, Somnomo, Temporary Lack of Consent, Under-negotiated Kink, Watersports, essentially, they're both just filthy perverts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:27:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27154495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaos_monkey/pseuds/chaos_monkey
Summary: Geralt gets back to camp after a hunt before the elixir wears off. Jaskier is asleep and having what seem to be rather pleasant dreams. Geralttriesto control himself; he really does...Fortunately, Jaskier is very much on board with, well, pretty much anything, once he wakes up.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 34
Kudos: 427





	Don't Stop

**Author's Note:**

> Please note there are repeated and major consent issues in this. They're both really into everything because Porn Logic, but y'know, don't try this at home, kids.
> 
> (Written for this delicious [anon prompt](https://chaos-monkeyy.tumblr.com/post/632726794729111552/anonymous-said-sooojuiced-up-geralt-returns-from) on Tumblr! Hope you enjoy 💙)

Ignoring the adrenaline still raging through his veins, Geralt rode carefully through the forest, threading Roach between the trees with only the moonlight to illuminate the way to the campsite. 

Not that he needed any more than that to see; especially not now, with the potent elixir still burning in his system and heightening all his already-honed senses and reflexes. Normally it would be wearing off by the time he returned, but the Hunt had been easier than he’d anticipated tonight. He typically avoided letting Jaskier see him like this— he knew how he looked: stark black veins spiderwebbing through bone-white skin around monstrous, jet-black eyes. But Jaskier, for a rarity, hadn’t followed him this time. The bard would be asleep; and, Geralt knew, was a very heavy sleeper. Geralt could slip back into camp without waking him and just try and sleep it off. 

Jaskier was not only asleep but also clearly dreaming about something _pleasant_ when Geralt arrived at their little clearing near the river. Swinging down off Roach, he quickly got her settled in for the rest of the night— while trying to ignore the sounds Jaskier was making behind him, shifting and huffing and mumbling incoherently in his bedroll. 

It was… difficult. Geralt was still wound up on the potion, his instincts constantly urging him to _action;_ any kind of action would do. And in the absence of threats, those instincts had a very good idea what sort of action would be preferable. Especially with Jaskier making decidedly enticing little hums and moans just a few feet away. 

Gritting his teeth, Geralt rounded the dying embers of the fire to his own bedroll and began stripping out of his armour and dusty, sweat-stained clothes. This was not the first time he’d had to control himself around Jaskier while he was in this state, and he knew how to handle it. All he had to do was ignore the bard, ignore the erection that was quickly filling and straining out against his trousers, and— 

Jaskier made a sudden, loud, and distressed-sounding whimper and Geralt’s head whipped around as he tensed, immediately alert and casting about for any sign of a threat. 

There was nothing, no danger. Geralt froze anyway, breathing hard. 

There was only Jaskier, sprawled out on his back with his head thrown back, faintly illuminated by the warm orange glow of the embers and by the cold blue light of the moon above. It was a warm night, and he’d apparently pushed the cover of his bedroll aside in his sleep, revealing that he was sleeping in naught but his underclothes. A light sheen of sweat glistened on the long, smooth expanse of his bared throat and his hand— his hand was… 

Almost against his will, Geralt found his gaze travelling inexorably down Jaskier’s half naked form as the bard shifted and squirmed slowly; eyes roving from Jaskier’s parted lips to his throat, over the lightly heaving planes of his bare chest and stomach, down to where he had a hand on himself, gripping his erect cock through his clothing. He was still asleep, but the scent of his arousal was growing stronger and stronger on the still night air— more of those urgent, wordless moans and whimpers falling from his lips— his hips shifting with need— 

“Mmh- _Ger’lt—”_

Rational thought fled and Geralt _reacted,_ crossing the campsite clad only in his leather trousers. Dropping to hands and knees beside the sleeping bard, he gave in to the call of that sweet, sweet scent, closed his mouth over the head of Jaskier’s cock through his smallclothes, already damp with arousal, and _sucked._ Jaskier moaned, his hand jerking spastically below Geralt’s mouth and his hips pressing upwards, unconsciously seeking more warmth and friction. 

And Geralt gave it to him, tonguing and sucking, pausing only long enough to tug the hem of Jaskier’s shorts down with his teeth to get his mouth on Jaskier’s bare flesh instead. Fumbling one-handed at the fastenings of his own trousers to free his own insistently throbbing cock, he let Jaskier’s hips buck up, that hard, musky heat sliding in along his tongue and filling his airways with the smell of _Jaskier,_ of want and lust and need that mirrored his own. 

It didn’t sink in, what he’d done, until the bard woke up. 

“Wh-... G-Geralt? Is— what’re you—?” 

Jaskier’s wet cock popped from his mouth with an obscenely sloppy sound as Geralt jerked away, realization hitting him like a wave of ice-cold water at the sound of Jaskier’s sleep-fogged voice above him. His chest heaving, his instincts still screaming at him to _keep going,_ he just stared up at Jaskier in the darkness, desperately trying to sort his mind back into words. 

“I—” 

The stumbling apology was on the tip of his tongue when Jaskier shuddered and groaned and tangled his fingers in Geralt’s hair with a whimpered, “Gods, don’t _stop,_ Geralt, _please_ don’t stop—” 

That was enough. 

Geralt _growled,_ sucking Jaskier’s cock into his mouth again as though he was starving, taking that hot, stiff length as deep as he could until his nose was pressed to Jaskier’s lower belly amidst the thick, dark curls of hair covering his groin. Jaskier’s hips bucked under him, the bard’s grip tightening and a loud moan erupting from his throat, followed by a string of profanity and pleas for _more gods yes fuck Geralt_ interspersed with gasps for air. 

Geralt lost track of time, but Jaskier finally gasped, “Geralt— Geralt, wait, stop,” twisting around and scrabbling at his bag. Geralt forced himself to stop with a grunt, panting, one hand tight on his cock and his hips twitching to rut into his own grip. 

“Here,” the bard said a moment later, shoving something at him and wriggling around to awkwardly get his smallclothes pushed down and one leg free. “Come on, I need— damn it, _fuck_ me already, Witcher!” 

“But…” Geralt hesitated, concern spiking through the lust raging in his core. “I don’t want to hurt y—” 

“It’s _fine,_ ” Jaskier said plaintively, “I’m used to it. Just— oh, honestly, _here,_ ” he huffed, pushing Geralt onto his back in the dirt and straddling his hips. “Oil,” he said, and Geralt handed the vial back, gripping Jaskier’s thighs and drinking in the sight the bard made, bare in the moonlight, sitting shamelessly astride Geralt as he oiled up both palms. 

_Why the_ fuck _hadn’t they done this before?_

Geralt’s already muddled thoughts were scattered to the winds when Jaskier knelt upright, reaching behind himself with both hands and closing one around Geralt’s cock. A brief moment later, he was sinking down with a low, shuddering groan, his hole squeezing almost painfully tightly around the head of Geralt’s cock; though nowhere _near_ enough for Geralt to want to stop. A moan that was half a snarl ripped from his throat as Jaskier took him deeper and then paused, panting hard, trembling, hands curled into fists on Geralt’s bare chest— 

And then Jaskier started _moving,_ rocking up and down, head thrown back and mouth open in a continual series of semi-coherent moans and curses; and Geralt stopped thinking again. Planting his feet, he thrust up, driving into Jaskier’s tight, slick heat over and over, his grunts of effort mingling with Jaskier’s gasps and cries and his gaze trapped by the sight of Jaskier riding along with each thrust. 

He held himself back from the edge of orgasm through sheer force of will, refusing to let this be over any sooner than it had to be. It seemed Jaskier was doing the same, not touching himself despite the fact that his cock was so hard and flushed it looked _painful,_ a trail of glistening precome leaking from the tip, running down his shaft and dripping onto Geralt’s stomach. 

As the elixir burned from his system, though, Geralt became increasingly aware of a… different, equally urgent need burning in his core alongside the tightly coiled tension of arousal. The potions numbed his awareness of pain, cold, and heat— as well as the mundane demands of his body, and the urge to relieve himself was growing quickly stronger as those effects wore off. He could feel _Jaskier_ more intensely as it did, too; every slide in and out of Jaskier’s body making it harder to hold off his looming release and every press down over his aching bladder making it harder to hold _that_ in as well. 

He could also feel Jaskier’s legs shaking against his hips, the bard’s breathing ragged and desperate; and he rolled them over in one swift motion so that Jaskier was on his back again. Jaskier’s gleeful, breathless yelp of surprise turned into a long groan as Geralt pushed his legs up and immediately resumed hammering into him. 

“Ohhhh _fuck,_ Geralt… harder- harder, don’t stop, I’m— _ahh— there,_ yes, fuck, I’m so fucking _close—_ ” Jaskier was panting, one hand on his cock now, squeezing the base of his shaft without stroking. 

Sweat trickling down his spine, his fingers digging into the dirt, Geralt complied, hips pumping, need _burning_ deep in his gut and his breath coming in hoarse, strained gasps and grunts. He was desperate to piss and desperate to come, the sensations mingling into one and sending throbbing jolts of pleasure-pain straight to his cock with every hard, frantic thrust. He almost wasn’t sure he’d even be able to come anymore; but he couldn’t stop, either, his eyes fixed on Jaskier’s face, their breath mingling and the bard’s expression contorted in a desperate bliss that mirrored Geralt’s own— 

And then Jaskier jerked and cried his name again, voice breaking and arse clenching around Geralt’s cock, and Geralt was abruptly coming so hard he couldn’t breathe. He just barely managed to keep thrusting through it, pulsing out in waves while Jaskier came on his cock, spurting out in long, messy bursts up his own stomach and chest and drawing out Geralt’s own release. 

Geralt still felt like he was coming when a brief involuntary spasm clenched his belly and a fresh wave of warmth spread around his twitching cock, buried to the hilt inside Jaskier. He froze, staring at Jaskier and frantically tightening his muscles against the leak— maybe he’d imagined it— 

But it came again, a long, unmistakable jet of piss escaping him and straight into Jaskier. Jaskier’s eyes went wide and he shuddered, staring back at Geralt with his mouth open and his hand still tight around his own cock. 

“Jaskier—” Geralt grated, pulling out— “fuck, I can’t stop it—” 

He had just pulled all the way out, still-stiff cock leaking uncontrollably in hot fits and bursts, when Jaskier’s legs wrapped around his hips and stopped him from rolling away. “Oh gods, _don’t_ stop it Geralt, I— fuck, I don’t care, it feels too bloody _good._ ” 

Geralt shuddered, still trying to stop leaking, and failing. “I— you want…” 

“ _Yes,_ keep going, let me _feel_ it,” Jaskier groaned, wriggling closer until his arse was rubbing over Geralt’s twitching, dripping cock again— and Geralt couldn’t hold it anymore. He let go onto Jaskier with a deep, shuddering moan of relief, still staring at the bard in stunned disbelief, their eyes locked on one another. Jaskier _whined,_ biting his lip and shifting around, reaching down and wrapping his fingers around Geralt’s pissing cock and guiding the tip back to his hole with a gasp. “Oh gods, Geralt, I can feel— I can feel you inside me, I… fuck, fill me up, make me _yours—_ ” 

Panting, light-headed, Geralt pushed back inside him without stopping to think about it and just… kept going. It felt unbelievably good, the rush of pure relief combined with the head-spinning thrill of doing something so utterly debauched and knowing Jaskier was enjoying it just as much as he was. He was still hard enough to thrust; and he did, pulling a series of gasps from Jaskier’s throat as he slid slowly in and out while emptying himself into Jaskier’s arse. 

His arms were shaking before he was quite finished, and Jaskier pulled him down the last few inches and into a breathless kiss while Geralt was still pissing inside in him in weak little spurts and dribbles. He could _feel_ it leaking back out of Jaskier and over his own softening cock in sporadic gushes of wet heat, running over both of them to soak into the ground beneath. 

… At least they weren’t still on Jaskier’s bedroll, Geralt thought distantly; and then he stopped paying attention to anything other than Jaskier’s nimble tongue in his mouth for a long, long while. 


End file.
